A Blessed Carriage Ride

I accompanied two blind ladies to the national convention of the Federation of the Blind in Colorado Springs. During a gap in the scheduled events, we decided to take a carriage ride from the hotel. The man who offered the tours talked to us. Turns out he had once been a computer programmer, but gave it up and bought this carriage.

To call it a buggy would not do it justice. Queen Elizabeth and Phillip have a fancier one, but this one was super. Of course it had rubber tires, so it rolled silently through the busy streets. Only the hooves of the horses could be heard.

We talked some more. He was a young man. Working with computers could easily have been his first job. His carriage business was really taking a chance. Some seasons were lean, but this is what he and his wife wanted to do. He seemed to have the air of a man, slightly unsure of himself. Had he made the right decision to give up such a good job? I thought of him as a hero, going back in time to work at such a slow pace.

As a young man, I liked speed. I had owned three motorcycles, and often drove them at dangerous speeds. But with the passage of time, I came to seek something more relaxing. I took a river trip in a rowboat. Talk about quiet.

Here was a young man who had sunk a lot of money into a beautiful, dark maroon conveyance. It was covered in leather. The seats were plush. His horses were well-groomed.

At the end of our ride he confessed to some doubts about his decision and his new job. I told him how I admired his daring. "You have chosen the better part," were my last words to him. "Thank you, brother," he said.